We Have To Choose Between What Is

I Think That Emotionally, I've Probably Felt A Little Bit More Balanced When I Started Writing Again.

He [uncle Vernon] Held Up The Envelope In Which Mrs. Weasley’s Letter Had Come, And Harry Had To Fight Down A Laugh. Every Bit Of It Was Covered In Stamps Except For A Square Inch On The Front, Into Which Mrs. Weasley Had Squeezed The Dursleys’ Address In Minute Writing. “she Did Put Enough Stamps On, Then,” Said Harry, Trying To Sound As Though Mrs. Weasley’s Was A Mistake Anyone Could Make.

I Sat And Thought For Four (delayed Train) Hours, And All The Details Bubbled Up In My Brain, And This Scrawny, Black-haired, Bespectacled Boy Who Didn't Know He Was A Wizard Became More And More Real To Me.

I Have Been Careless, And So Have Been Thwarted By Luck And Chance, Those Wreckers Of All But The Best Laid Plans.

In Truth, I Never Consider The Audience For Whom I'm Writing. I Just Write What I Want To Write.